His Art
by Aquen
Summary: In the survive or die it had always been just him. His art was a reflection of his heart, a way to record that which he could never forget. When his art began to reflect her more and more he barely knew how to react.
1. Introduction

_So I haven't written much fanficiton recently, and I really, really, really should be working on my previously started work but... inspiration is a fickle thing! And I can't stay away from this pairing! I love them so much, they're absolutely adorable so OF COURSE I HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR THEM! But for the longest time I had no idea what to write about... until I decided to focus on Lincoln's artwork. I'd love to detail more how and why he fell in love with Octavia, I find it very interesting so I'll also weave in that into my little interconnected one shots..._

_I hope any Linctavia fans enjoy this little addition to the fandom!_

**_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100... but whoever does better make sure it gets the seasons it deserves!_**

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><p>Introduction<p>

Lead and chalk were my primary mediums. I searched endless hours for the pencils that trailed the colors of the rainbows. They were hard to find in the wreck of earth, just as an artist was hard to find amidst the blood and gore. Perhaps it was my artistic tendencies that set me apart from my clan, separating me from their ways. There was a disconnect that drove me from my village to the solace of the forest.

In the survive or die it had always just been me, me and my artwork. In the soft cream pages of my book, those dark figures and shape mapped a trail of my life, capturing for eternity what I could never forget.

It had always been that way, and I had assumed it would always be that way.

* * *

><p>More than alarmed, I was frustrated that the rabbit I had been skinning now lay against the dirt, the brown specks digging deep into the soft flesh. Rabbit meat was sweet, good for eating, but not when dirt and moss and who knew what else riddled the meat.<p>

With a growl I lifted myself to hands and knees, feeling the last tremors run through my body. I glanced swiftly about, up into the foliage of the trees. A distant bird tweeted out a happy call, and the forest once more slipped back into its trance of tranquility.

But that was not an earthquake. The shining orange, red object had plummeted to earth, so close I had heard the snapping and cracking off branches. I stood, deciding then to investigate what that object had been. I left the rabbit forsaken beside the log, food for the predators. With light steps I ran swiftly through the woods, slipping back and forth between the trees, uncertain just what I would find.

Through the trees I caught glimpses of the thing that had fallen from the sky, a large bulky black thing, metal from the looks of it. Painted on its sides were markings and numbers I had never before seen. All seemed quite still, but here the forest held its breath and so did I. I crouched low behind a tree, tugging up my mouth covering to hide the faint sound of my breaths.

Nothing happened for a long moment, my fingers clenched around the bark of the tree and I glanced about. Vaguely I was aware of another across the space, also watching. He was aware of me too, but we stayed silent, uncertain.

There was a great noise, a groaning shudder and I quickly pressed myself low to the ground, peering out as I watched in stunned silence. My hand went to the sword at me side, and I took a calming breath to prepare for… whatever.

In a screen of mist a part of the object began to lower, and landed with a thud that reverberated through my fingers. Across the glade I could see my nameless comrade shift, crawling up the tree to a better vantage point. The smoke cleared, drifting away into the sweet air of late autumn afternoon.

And before me stood a band of wide eyed, paled skinned children.

They all stood still, looking as stunned as I was to see them.

Slowly one broke from the group, a girl with dark hair and pale eyes. She stepped hesitantly forward, eyes closing and taking in a deep breath of the heathy smell of ferns. Then in a burst she breathed it all out, expression one of pure delight. She continued forward as the others lingered back, steps clanking against the metal walkway. Then she was at the edge, and she did a little jump, boots landing on the earth and bending the leaf of a fern. Still she seemed in shock, and her shock amused me.

A smile stretched across her face as she took a few more shuffling paces forward. She raised her hand and took in a deep breath, smile turning wider and greater.

"WE'RE BACK BITCHES!"

Her scream cut through the uncertain silence, loud and triumphant. I was surprised to understand her words, and beneath the mouth covering I smirked.

What arrogance.

But at the call the others within the metal beast cheered, streaming out in rushed steps as the first girl once again pumped her fist into the air.

They scattered and I suddenly felt vulnerable in my hiding spot. I had not expected so many, I quickly tried to count, but they kept shifting and moving, intertwining with each other in a way that made counting impossible. But there were many, perhaps a units worth, if not more. I hunkered low, covering myself with the foliage of the ground, careful to remain still and quite. They did not notice, the few that strayed near my hiding spot were too drunk on wonder to look to closely at anything.

As the kids began to gather once more by their… falling star, and I decided then that it was a safe time for me to leave. I glanced at the trees and found that the other was still there, peering down at them with dangerous curiosity. I glanced back to the foreigners and found the dark haired girl, still smiling her brilliant smile and wonder just what she was so happy about. I forced myself to back up slowly, slipping away like a dark shadow from their sunny day.

I wanted nothing to do with them.

* * *

><p>"I assume you know why you're here?" Anta asked and it was not a question to get wrong. I held her iron gaze, unwavering. I had not appreciated being forced from my caves, not this late, and not when I knew of whom it concerned.<p>

"The Sky people." I provided finally, relenting. Anya's sharp face was drawn low in anger. By her side Tris glowered at me, a pesky thing she was. But her marks proved her, for her age she had quite a number. "I saw them descend."

"As did Conner. I would wish to hear your account now."

I paused a moment, considering how I could best describe the scene with as little words as possible. I knew there would be retaliation; I just needed to minimize it.

"I saw the falling star, and I heard it land, so I went to investigate. The object was made of metal, and one section came down and there were children. Too many to count, but I assume about a unit's worth. I retreated then, my position was too unsecured."

"Why did you not simply re-position?" She snapped, long fingers tapping against her hips.

"I found no need to remain, I had no orders."

Her hand was quick, slashing out with speed, nails digging against the flesh of my cheek. Droplets of blood slipped down my cheek, dribbling against my lips and I could taste the metallic blood.

"That is for not following them." She growled, then paused and curled her hand into a fist. "For now we will not attack, I want to full account on them, if they are a threat and what they could be capable of."

I reached up to smear away the blood welling in the fresh cuts.

"Lincoln."

Anya's sharp voice drew back my attention. She did not seem pleased, but then she rarely was.

"You will make up for your failings. I want you to scout these 'children'. That is now your job."

"Understood." I nodded, teeth grinding in frustration.

"Go then."

I left, snapping the flap of the tent sharply behind me. Nyko stood abruptly, swiftly drawing to my side as I stalked from the tent.

"That bad?" He questioned, seeing my dark gaze.

"I left the camp to find solace, and they keep dragging me back into their messes."

"You're useful." Nyko shrugged, but his words did little to ease my frustration. "Maybe if you weren't such a good artist? I could stop teaching you medicine if you'd like."

"Shut up." I growled and pushed past him, tramping through the underbrush. Behind me Nyko chuckled. I continued swiftly through the woods, thinking darkly that perhaps I'd get lucky and these sky children would soon be killed by wild beasts.

* * *

><p>In the survive or die it had been only me and my art. My art was my life, and the book was a reflection of my very self. Despite my retreat from my village, the clan still held a metal hold of my life, but they could not control my art. And when my art reflected her, I barely knew how to react.<p>

Because in the survive or die it had always been me. But now I wanted her.

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><p><em>And there we are! Until the next one... which will hopefully be sooner than later!<em>


	2. Serpent Bait

_First: I changed up a bit of the first chapter in accordance to the revelation of who the Commander is... so yeah, not much just a tiny bit. _

_Second: I hope you enjoy the second part! Thank's everyone who's shown interest in this little fanfic! _

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><p>Serpent Bait<p>

The serpent swam along the stone, fading in and out of the uneven edges as the fire cast an uneven light. The beast's jaws were held ajar in a fearsome roar, eyes aflame with fury of having lost its sweet prey, the girl.

Octavia, they had screamed. Octavia was her name. Octavia with her hair darkened by the water, clothes sticking to her thin frame, Octavia the serpent bait. I smirked at that, imagining the fiery response that would be sure to follow such a derogatory name. Her eyes were alive, flashing with the emotion that flickered behind them. She was open, too open and that lends to her vulnerability.

I sharpened the teeth of the serpent with my white chalk. Now the creature was fierce, ready to take that girl in its jaws and snap her thin bones into splinters. She would thrash in a desperate fight for life, receiving more of those thin slashes across her thigh.

My fingers brushed against the drawing shimmering on my hovel wall then backed away, considering the work at a broader spectrum. But my thoughts were hardly on the artwork. My mind cast back to the time I had spent skulking about in the underbrush, eyes eternally rotating toward her. I had to admit to myself, however reluctantly, that she intrigued me. And the scene from the river would not part from my mind, how the smile had lasted up until the very last. These sky people, these children, knew nothing. She had been lucky to escape death.

The little rebel did not seem to remember the near death experience, while the defeated beast swum in circles about my mind.

With a grunt I tossed the chalk back into the pan and flopped down beside the fire on the pelts of fur I had collected. That I had skinned from the numerous beasts I had killed. It would do no good to become preoccupied over any of those sky people. Especially her.

But still, the memory of her standing playfully in the river filled my vision. She possessed a love for life I had not seen in my people, we who clawed at life in such desperate cruelty. I could almost imagine her beckoning for me, tempting with her freedom from worries. Her sly smile coaxed me to swim beside her, despite the serpent lurking in the depths.

"You look quite cozy."

I jerked to a sitting position, hands leaving their resting place against my abs and slamming down into the furs. I leveled the intruder with a dangerous look. Nyko lifted his hands, eyebrow perked as he stepped from the shadows and into the firelight.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice me."

"I was thinking." I grumbled, though I too was just as shocked. My thoughts had been caught in the shimmering river, distorting pale skin and black hair. "What do you want?"

"Well," Nyko stepped about the room, eyes lazily glancing about in an effort to try and pick out any new additions of my collection. He had watched me start it, as curious as I had been with the ancient, unknown things. "I'd expect a warmer welcome after taking time to go out to you hermit."

I did not rise to the jeer.

"Just seeing how you're doing. You're latest assignment isn't exactly your...specialty."

I made a sound in the back of his throat, a mix of agreement and disgust.

"And how are the sky people faring?"

"Anya doesn't understand what 'do not attack' means. She speared one of theirs." Nyko laughed and shook his head. He nudged a little device, metal and plastic whose purpose was lost even to me.

"Is there anything of interest in their ranks?"

Octavia. But that was not what he was asking, and I would never say that out loud. I hated admitting it even to myself. I cast my mind back to the hours spent watching and observing. Again and again my mind returned to her, her laugh, her mischievous gaze. The others were much like his own people, perhaps even worse. They fought often.

"They aren't a threat." I finally muttered, when the pause had continued too long. "From what I can tell they are lost, and they don't understand anything."

"Good," Nyko crossed his arms, gazing up at the newest addition of artwork to his wall. "Anya will be happy. Easier that way."

A cold feeling curled in my stomach. The thin black haired boy had been the one speared through the chest, speared by my people. The sky people did not even know we existed, and my people already wanted to commit genocide.

Octavia could have easily have been the one to receive the spear in the chest.

I glared darkly at Nyko. It was not his fault, he was a healer, but he spoke so flippantly of it all. He glanced over, and perked a brow.

"Not a good time friend?" There was a laugh in his voice, and perhaps he was right. He knew me too well, could read the emotions I had been trained to keep secret. My glare darkened and he held up his hands, consenting to my silence.

She was different, unlike anything I had seen before. That was why I was curious, nothing more. And yet, my people were plotting the early demise of one so… pure.

"Nice serpent."

It wanted its prey, it wanted her blood, her meat, it wanted her. The serpent on my wall was not much different from my own clan. They wanted her dead too after all.

I think I mumbled a thanks, but I could not hear it myself. Nyko said something about coming around again, to relay any new information I may have required, but I was not listening to him.

She had escaped the water serpent, but this new serpent was much more capable of killing than that one had been.

And I was concerned how desperately I hoped she would get lucky a second time.

* * *

><p><em>A little cheesy... I know :3 but hey! That's what we're all here for! Anyway... they better get Lincoln back to normal! And... and I wanna see some Lincoln and Belamy interaction scenes... hehe that'll be great!<em>


	3. Metal Beast

Metal Beast

She was kissing him.

And I no longer wanted to draw the electric blue butterflies that swarmed in a storm about her. I pulled the mask down low over my face, deciding quickly it'd be better if I left the two alone. Kissing always led to much more. Humans used each other to get what they wanted; I was no foreigner to that.

Which, I bitterly concluded, made her no different than any other of the sky people or any other of my own people.

I slipped away, ferns barely swinging as I brushed past. That not quite stirring was the only indication that I had ever been a spectator of the serpent bait and her special boys' moment. Swiftly I climbed, strictly ordering my thoughts to focus back on the task. Anya could care less which boy Octavia was pounding, despite how much it stoked my disgust.

I crossed deftly from tree to tree, slipping back to the camp and descended on a lower branch, carefully considering the array I found before me. They had a fire, and the orange-red tongues cast distorting shadows across the encampment. They had managed to retain a semblance of peace and cooperation and had begun to construct walls about their metal beast. Faces began to stand out, certain features marking those I began to recognize though names were still blurs. I always situated myself a bit too far to hear their day-to-day conversations, I only heard their screams. And they seemed to scream an unnecessary amount of time.

There's Clarke, the blond haired one they often call 'princess'. There's Jasper the skinny black haired kid who follows Octavia around like a sad dog, and the one who got speared in the chest. And there's Bellamy, who attaches himself closely to Octavia. It is while she is with him that I have seen her purest smiles, bellied by her harshest anger.

She's a rebel, a free soul who is more interested in discovering then concerning herself with the matters of the moment. Her newest shenanigan, the boy, only reflected deeper that longing of discovery. I would not even pretend to know her, but I could see at least that life in her eyes. The fierce pride of existence.

I took out my book, growling to myself to keep my focus straight. The black haired girl invaded my thoughts too often. She was just another sky child, nothing over which to entertain vast musings.

I stared down at the rough sketch of the metal beast, what they called the drop ship. I glanced up to the real thing and tried to compare my drawing to it, but it was too dark and the fire obscured the important details. With a frown I wound the leather strap back around my book and shoved it into the pouch at my side. That was all for tonight, there was nothing more I could do.

There was nothing more of interest.

I stood, branch bending slightly beneath my feet, but they would not even bother to notice.

Lifting my gaze I cast it back once more over the camp, and caught sight of a black haired girl leading a boy back form the forest. I froze, brow crumpling in confusion. Octavia was smiling, the boy looking much more solemn. As they drew closer to the camp he dropped her hand and swiftly past her by, pretending he had not just been eating her face in the forest. Octavia however did not seem to care that much, but a smirk twisted her lips as she traipsed happily to the fire. Her pale hands stretched out over the dancing flames and I just stared.

She was a conundrum. She obviously had no deep sentiments attached to the boy; he was a thing of convenience. Many of the other sky people had done the same, finding someone to be close to, to feel connected to. Except those others would sneak off and do more than just kiss. But Octavia seemed perfectly content with herself, without a hint of shame or fear.

I left, before my thoughts were consumed with her. It was not she I should be focused on but the half-done sketch of the drop ship.

Still, I could not help the relief I felt blooming in my chest.

Octavia was different.

* * *

><p>The hard angles and obscuring bushes were the most challenging part of drawing the drop ship. Portraying the darkness of the thing while maintaining the shape and shades that were obscured by shrubbery was a bit of a challenge, but an accomplishable one.<p>

What was most distracting was _her_.

Octavia had been left behind. I knew I should be following the group who had slipped away, but I was too weary to go traipsing about the forest once more and watch their pathetic attempts to do… well anything. The others would be tracking their movements, especially if they ventured unwittingly close to the village. I would occupy myself with finishing my sketch of the metal beast while the lighting was still good, and everything was relatively calm.

But she kept flitting in and out of my line of vision, energy never seeming to abate. I grit my teeth and forced myself to focus on the door of the drop ship, and what little I could distinguish inside. She had been angry, at the presumed brother, for taking away her little toy (the boy), but now that burning anger seemed completely forgotten. She was everywhere, helping anyone and everyone she could find. She had no set job, but accumulated more and more work as she cheerfully began a project then became distracted by something else.

She had so much energy, yet it was so erratic.

But she had proved my guess; the boy was nothing more than a tool to get what she wanted. Another form of rebellion perhaps. With that thought in mind I turned back to my book, sketching out a few bold lines… too hard. When I finally glanced back up Octavia had moved from her spot and I cast my gaze about in search for the little sprite.

Octavia was at the base of my tree.

She was just slightly under the low branch I had perched myself upon to get a better view over the fence. She strained to fasten new logs to the fences, tiny muscles rippling in effort. I tensed, snapping the book closed as I pressed my back against the rough bark. She was so close, and in the dappled forest light I could catch the planes of her sharp cheeks, the strands of black hair that clung to the sheen of sweat across her smooth skin. She was so close. So close if the fence was not a sharp barrier between us I could reach down my muddied fingers and press them against her cheek.

My fingers twitched at the thought and absently I wondered how soft her skin would be.

She looked up and I froze, mind going blank with a sudden panic. I was staring too much, she had felt my presence. I admonished myself with very select words, trying to press against the bark and make myself as small as possible.

I was disgusted with myself. She was a child, my enemy and I was pining after her like a fool.

Pining?

A horn split the air and all the sky peoples gaze go to the air, as if it were the source of the sound. A cold dread drops deep in my stomach. The fog. I needed to find shelter… she needed to find shelter.

She's so close. I want to order her to the dropship. Please. Just go. I crouch frozen, knowing I should go, knowing I should flee but I can't. Because she's still standing, neck craned upward as she surveys the sky with a confused twist to her brow. And I want to sketch the lines of her slim neck, the cords that stand out in such elegant curves.

There's a shout, then pointing and finally she rushes away. They are all looking at something, something I can't see from my position, but I know what it is.

The fog.

Time is precious now, and they waste it in their uncertainty. The dropship! I want to shout, but I press my mouth into a thin firm line of silence. They finally have enough sense, and I linger until she disappears into the dark interior. Then I flee, crashing through the underbrush without much care for silence. I need to get somewhere safe, and now. The yellow thick haze is behind me, circling around me, trapping me.

And I slip down into my caves, closing the gate behind me and swiftly set down the narrow passages. At the end I throw up the blanket and wood, barring myself from any stray tendrils that could somehow manage to slink down into my abode.

Still breathing hard I tumble onto my furs, trying to even my breathing. My first thought should be of my narrow escape, concern over my comrades, heck even wondering over the Sky People. Instead one word repeated over and over in my mind.

Pining.

That was it after all, wasn't it? That was what I felt for her. A longing, a desire. She intrigued me with her endless energy and radiant innocence and love for existence, no matter how twisted that made me. I was not gathering information on her people as much as on her. I could only imagine how disgusted she would be, how her lips would curl and brow furrow, that anger unleashed upon me.

I only wanted to see that brilliant smile.

Traitor.

That was what my people would say. If I feared her revulsion, I should fear theirs more. Utter disgust, a sure knife to the back.

With a groan I slid a hand across my face, swiping away the mask and throwing it against the wall. It bounced against the serpent and landed wobbling on the floor.

I had been swept away by that spirited woman. Whether it be intrigue, lust, puppy-love, it was there and it was real and I could not continue to lie to myself and deny what I already knew. I had been swept away but there was nothing I could do. I was her enemy, she was mine. She was something I would only ever be able to glimpse from far away. Today would be the closest I would ever get to her.

I may want her, but that was all I could do.

* * *

><p>"This is it?"<p>

Anya held my book in her hands and I could not help but grit my teeth as I nodded a firm reply. She turned the book about, as if that would enhance the picture.

"And these lines, that's how many?"

"One hundred." I provided. Beside her, peering over Anya's shoulder at the drawing, Tris frowned sharply.

"And what are these?" She asked, reaching out to indicate the lines that had been crossed out.

"Their deaths."

Anya's lips curled in cruel satisfaction. "They can barely sustain themselves."

Octavia's boy had died, the newest tick in my book. Octavia did not cry, though there were tears in her eyes. She was strong, that I had known. Even if he had been a relationship of convenience, at least she had deemed him worthy of grieving. She was not heartless, she had a heart and it was strong.

"Lincoln." I snapped my eyes back to Anya's with the sinking feeling that this had not been the first time she had called my name. "Any other reports? Do they have weapons, what are they gathering for food? Are they in contact with any others, the Mountain Men?"

She still held my book in her clutch.

"They are fashioning weapons, for hunting. They seem to be alone, and I doubt they are with the Mountain Men. They don't know anything. They've tried no contact."

Anya made a gruff noise in the back of her throat and crossed her arms.

"Maybe if some would stop attacking them I could gather more information."

"That has nothing to do with it."

I did not feel like arguing with her, not then. It was useless talking with her. It was useless talking to any of my people. They liked blood, gust, glory of battle. They destroyed the artifacts I wanted to keep.

Anya snapped the booklet closed and thrust it out.

"I want portraits." She said sharply as I took back my book. "Of any important figure. Their leaders, their best fighters, their smartest."

I nodded, mentally visualizing the faces that would be on her list. They were not many, and few within their group were competent enough to be given as a threat to Anya. They were kids after all, and I doubted any had ever killed before. They would be easy to kill.

"Go." She gave a sharp wave, and then added as I turned. "You have performed well."

It was good she did not of Octavia.

I swore then that Octavia would never come to her attention.

* * *

><p><em>Lincoln fell fast guys... really fast poor guy.<em>


	4. Portrait (Part 1)

_Next chapter! Hope it's worthy of the wait... ? hehe... :3_

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><p>Portrait (Part 1)<p>

What angers me most is that I must use my own supplies, my own precious few supplies, in order to sate Anya's war mongering desires. I take only three sheaves of paper for the portraits, one for their leader Bellamy, one for their princess Clarke and one for any other underlings I found suitable to sketch out in smaller portraits. I take the worst of my pencils. This is not for me, and these pictures will not appear in my book. I could care less how well they came out, as long as Anya could distinguish them as 'human' would be satisfactory to me.

My realization had only worsened me mood.

I shove my provision into my sack and set out in early morning, already dreading watching them for yet another day. Anya had assigned me a foolish mission and complete waste of time. I needed to hunt and prepare for the winter. I did not want to have to come slinking back to the village to beg a few of their precious provisions just because I had to baby-sit a bunch of sky children. I did not want to be dependent on them.

I take my usual branch above the sky camp, and recommence my surveillance. I study their moves, their habits, their protections, their way of life and even now my eyes are always scanning for her.

Gritting my teeth, I slip out the sheaves of paper and force myself to locate the blond, the one I should be considering. Pining was it? Lust and selfish desire more like, and I again warned my rebellious whims that it was _incredibly stupid _to even give her a passing regard.

My lines were angry. Too dark, too raged. Clarke's eyes turned too close and her hair to scruffy. But I did not care. Her picture was not meant to be lovingly cared for, with time and consideration. It was not my art. It was art for another, as ruthless as the lines I had sketched. I glanced up to note the edge of her cheekbones when a much darker haired girl caught the corner of my eye.

Whatever resolve I had constructed against her dissolved instantly.

My traitor eyes revolved to her, and instead of noting Clarke's cheeks I studied the way her bones curved about her eyes, and the creases that came from her exuberant expressions. My fingers curled about the pencil as I stared, memorizing each detail through an artist's eye.

Belatedly I realized she was not alone. She was leading a bay from the encampment; the one Anya had nearly killed. He looked terrified to leave, and yet she insisted, coaxing him with gentle words and a loose grip about his fingers.

I could not help but stare.

Pining. Interest. Intrigue. Lust. Disgusting. Cursed. Perverted.

I turned my gaze decidedly back to Clarke, repeating the words about in my head until they were all mixed about and I hardly knew which were the wanted and which were the unwanted. I sketched her blond hair, but my mind was upon the dark strands that fell about thin shoulders in sheets.

And she was suddenly there, all panic and pointing and the black haired boy was at her side looking even more jittery than before. I could not help the sigh that escaped my lips, one of frustration and a damnation upon my very existence. Clarke was being pushed away by Octavia, who was set on gathering Bellamy and gathering their little group into a tent. My two main subjects, gone. I glanced down at my portrait of Clarke, one Octavia had deemed finished when she had so abruptly taken away my subject. I smirked and with a quick movement folded the paper in half and stuffed it into my pouch.

When the group once more left the tent I knew instantly that there was trouble. I had spent days watching them, I knew the shifting of their princesses face and when she was angry. And she was angry.

I watched the brewing down below. I did not care to follow the events, someone was being yelled out, and there was talk of death. The princess and the king were fighting again and everyone looked quite flushed. More than flushed, murderous. Someone was going to die.

I was too unconcerned with the events to follow the mass as they left the encampment. This would not concern Anya, she would be pleased to hear there was discord within the ranks but the specifics of who died would not be questioned. My eyes caught on her, and I wondered at the fear of her expression and the uncertainty of her entire situation. I would draw her as she smiled, when her eyes were alive and her shoulders curved in laughter. The strokes would be soft and smooth and the blending well cared for. I would use my best pencils.

But I would not draw her.

I would not draw her because my breath had escaped me and my stomach felt hallow just from watching her get pulled away by that crowd. Everything within me was being torn apart by selfish desire and curiosity.

I was sick.

And I hated the portraits I had just drawn.

* * *

><p>Their camp was a hive of activity.<p>

All because another of their metal pods had torn through the sky during the night and now lay buried in the ground on my clan's terrain. Another sky child, a flurry of activity as they rambled on in a lingo of people and places I could not even begin to understand. Logically I could understand why this event would be worthy of note. It meant there was someone contacting them, someone keeping tabs, an ambiguous being in the sky that was sending these vulnerable children down to earth for no comprehensible reason to me.

But despite the obvious connections, I could not bring myself to care about this new development. It only meant that sketching portraits was quickly rendered a frustratingly difficult task. They scattered everywhere, tearing things apart, putting them back together in such urgency, their paths crossing between each other in a slur of movement and indistinguishable lines.

Anya wanted the portraits. Nyko had been vague about his next arrival, it depended on whether he was needed for a birth or not. Either way, I did not have much time to finish these drawings and the sky people were being none too helpful.

As I sketched out Bellemay's dark hair she invaded my thoughts with each stroke of the pencil. In each flickering gaze I cast upon the young boy leader I could see her features within his. Same dark hair, same long bridged nose and square jawline, all the definitive markers of siblings.

I grit my teeth and tried to finish Bellamy's strong jaw, trace out another's hair and a thirds hooded eyes. I followed back and forth as they traversed the land, the sunlight dimming too quickly and their rushing forms becoming even more muddled together.

Casting my eyes once more over the portraits I had completed I gave a firm nod and finally allowed me self to stuff them into my satchel. They would have to do for Anya. Crouched by my tree beside their camp I tugged out my book, flipping open the pages and squinted against the falling darkness.

Twinkling eyes winked up at me, mischievous smile turning their edges to crinkles.

I had told myself not to draw her.

Promised myself.

But I had dreamt of black hair and pale skin, and curving lips and a little sharp laughter and I did not have much choice. My hands had felt clumsy while tracing the lines, and in the half-black the sketch looked incomplete, unfinished and jagged. She was too undefined; despite my eyes searching for her nearly all the cursed time spent at their camp, my memory had not captured her form well enough.

Nothing substituted the real thing.

I turned my gaze once more upon their wretched task, ignoring my burning conscious and the oath I had taken unto myself. Traitor. Traitor. It whispered. But it was just a single picture. I ran my fingers against the bird feather I had stuck between the pages, something that had floated down beside me during my long watch.

She was not at the fire.

She was not around whatever contraption they had been setting up.

She was not at the drop ship.

She was nowhere.

And the whispered words of _traitor, traitor_ were drowned by the rapid beat of my heart. They were all gathered, and I knew that she would never allow herself to miss this spectacle her people were putting on. I strained harder; scanning each body I came across, but quickly realized she was not at the camp. My mind cast back to the hectic day, trying to remember the last time I had found myself considering her instead of my subject. It seemed forever ago, in the bustle I had lost her.

I left.

Traitor. Traitor. Anya wanted to know what they were doing, not where Octavia had gotten to. But my heartbeat was loud and led my footsteps through the forest, slipping down the hill and following the trail that the sky people had been traipsing all day. She had left the camp with Bellamy, that was the last I had seen her, when her eyes were sparking with anger.

Wild animals, deformed by the air. My own people, driven mad by worry and intimidation. A spear to the chest and hung upon a tree, and her fiery soul would be extinguished so quickly.

I knelt upon the earth, marking out footsteps and trails. Each seemed to lead back to the camp, each made by a being that was not Octavia. In the failing light I grew impatient with these trails, more hasty in my movements. I was by chance, blessed chance that I noted a sloppy trail that veered away from the rest. It was certainly hers, or at least I desperately hoped it was. I followed her footprints and the broken twigs and trampled undergrowth along the ridge; eye's scanning and scanning until…

A loud noise cracked through the forest, accompanied by a sudden purple, blue light that illuminated the forest in a strange unnatural hue. I would have looked up, out of sheer curiosity, but in the illumination I caught sight of a small figure, stretched flat across the ground. Her hair was flipped across her face, and even from my higher vantage point I could see her leg was twisted. I slid forward, and my thundering heart suddenly seemed to quite to nothing. My breath rasps against my mask and I tugged it lower as I crouched, just staring.

Just as the consideration that she was dead began to creep into my mind she stirs, a light groan escaping her lips. She draws her arms beneath her and gingerly picks herself up, turning toward me as if sensing my presence, sensing my rapt attention.

Her pale eyes are wide with fear, mouth open in breathless panic. The strange lights paint her face pale and blue tinged, casting deep uneven shadows. I immediately ingrain this picture in my mind, this image of her.

This image of her fear, her panic, her utter despair.

This that is how she should feel. I slowly stand; keeping a firm even gaze locked with her and instantly banishing any gentle course of action from my mind. I am no fool. She should feel nothing but this fear, and I should not feel the emotions that tighten my chest when my gaze finds her. That wonder and want was not a part of us. I am her enemy, she is mine.

She should fear me. And she does.

Her breath escapes in a rush, not a scream but close enough. She tries to twist over, but she cries out in pain, she tries to stand but slams back against the earth.

"Please, please," She muttering between her pants. But she knows her fight is over. I slide down the rest of the embankment with a thud, feet planted right before her head. She jerks her gaze upward, teeth gritting in hopeless defiance. I keep my stoic mask as I watch her.

I am her enemy. She should fear me.

I grab the back of her jacket, jerking her upward and she screams. Her leg is broken, the bone can be seen through her torn pant leg and at the forced movement her eyes roll to the back of her head and she goes completely limp, dangling from my grip.

She was lighter than I expected. Gently I dip my arm beneath her knees, careful with her injury and let her head roll against my chest. And I stand there as the dyed sky shifts back to its natural black and the starlight illuminates her skin and I am holding the object of my keen interest.

Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

But I cannot help but hug her closer, feel her in my arms and wonder if she can hear the beat of my heart.

* * *

><p><em>Lincoln has Octavia! :D I've been looking forward to these next scenes, I always thought they'd be the more interesting ones to write compared to Lincoln's well... his stalker scenes... Sorry Lincoln. You're a creep.<em>


	5. Portrait (Part 2)

_So, my college decided to be nice to us and call a snow day so I took the opportunity to do some writing and finish up the second half of Portrait! Yay for work!... I should be studying..._

* * *

><p>I had rarely seen forms of gentleness in this harsh reality. Nyko was the closest able to come to anything remotely kind, with his firm hands and attentive eyes as he bandaged and prescribed medicines. But he was still a fighter, and had killed alongside me. Everything else about my past life was far from any kind or gentle thing, it was simply necessity.<p>

I felt awkward holding her, trying to shimmy down into my tunnels, keeping her head tucked against my shoulder and her body folded in my arms to avoid any unnecessary scuffs. A groan escaped her lips and I froze, hands bunching against the folds of her clothes.

But she did not stir.

I tried to be gentle as I lay her body on the uneven rock floor of my hovel. My awkward attempts at gentleness elicited a short fit of bitter laughter. I had not dared to dream of her presence here, not to say I did not dream of her, just never _here. _This place was my own intimate world where none of that blood of my past life could encroach. Only Nyko had ever crossed into the threshold of this place, and only because the blood he carried was as much his as mine.

And now she was here. Her chest rose and fell in swift succession, her brow was speckled with sweat and her leg was most certainly broken. I tried to focus on the medicines and herbs Nyko had taught me, but she was still distracting me. I licked my dry lips, eyes flickering from her injured knee up to the bruised plane of her cheek.

I was indeed a fool, or worse insane.

I jerked to my feet and mentally snapped back to focus. Even as I told myself to throw her back into the wilderness I knew I was incapable of such an action. Somewhere along the twisted line of my life I had surrendered myself to this infatuation. I had admitted it countless times to myself, but I was unwilling to breech just all that implied what it might entail. She could not die, I decided then. Not because she deserved to live, nor because she was somehow less my enemy than the others. It was not even because she held any special place in my heart. I could not let her die because she was life, she was innocence, she was a spark in the dark world and I had never before experienced such a brightly burning soul.

When I returned she was conscious, shouting out in pain. Her eyes found mine and they were and wide and filled with utter terror leveled fully against me.

"Please don't hurt me." She pleaded, hand risen in supplication and I abandoned the futile attempt at tenderness. I may have rescued her, but I had no intention of becoming involved, of giving her any reason to question all she believed of my race.

I was her enemy.

Her cries rang in my ears as I wrestled her back, pinning her shoulders against the rock and leveling the hot poker above her. Death was in her eyes, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She was screaming, but she did not hold out long against the pain. She fell limp against my grip, and I softened.

I should have killed her. That was what Anya wanted, that was what was expected of my hateful race. Instead I did my best to mend her wound, running my hands against her smooth skin until satisfied by my work.

When finished I leaned heavily against the wall and heaved a huge sigh that held a million unspoken frustrations. Tie her up, my mind was telling me, but as I considered her prone form my heart refused. She was freedom and fire and the thought of cold chains about her wrists was not concurrent with my vision of her.

I tugged out my book, flipping to the page where her smile brightened the pale page. I should never have drawn her. Her cheeks were not as sharp as I had drawn, and I could see now that the slope of her shoulders was not as drastic. In the dull light I began to redraw the small portrait, the shining smile on the page utterly displaced by the searing fear I had elicited.

I stayed too long, and the pale traces of light were beginning to shift into my hovel, and I knew that certainly by now the Sky People had noted their missing fire. I shifted and pulled myself forcefully to my feet, tucking the book back into my pouch. She still lay vulnerable on my floor, and for the moment she seemed almost peaceful, if not for the traces of pain that drew her lips downward.

I had stayed too long.

* * *

><p>She disappeared. I thought she would be secure in the place, not knowing the escape routes, too small and injured to climber her way out. I had been wrong.<p>

In a burst of panic I crashed through the tunnels and rooms and found nothing and began to wonder if I truly was going crazy. But then I found the side tunnel, saw the handfuls of moss littering the floor, the rocks that had been pushed from place and the scuff marks as she crawled her way to freedom. She was a feisty soul, a fighter.

But her freedom would lead her to the outside world. The Sky People's revenge was more sudden than I had expected, her brother was transformed into a beast in his search. And my people were indiscriminate in their killing.

They would not think twice about putting an arrow through her heart.

I cursed a million times as I scrambled from the tunnels, eyes roving the forest with ferocity. I had already chanced too much to allow her to be killed by my own people now. She was still injured; she could not have gotten very far. I crouched low and ran my hand over the ground, searching for signs of her struggle.

Broken branches, heavy footprints, and I was following, thundering beat of my heart pressing me forever forward. My path twisted from tree to tree, following her struggle to escape from me. There was a noise and I came to a halt, listening.

It was a scream, the strangled wrenching cry of a girl in distress. My pace once again quickened, following the trail, following until I saw her, glancing about in utter uncertainty as she too tried to pinpoint the noise.

I was horribly aware of my approaching brethren, of the girl they chased. I knew at any moment they would arrive, here, and Octavia would be killed along with the unfortunate girl. I reacted as my heart beat demanded, hardly feeling in control at all.

I could not let her die.

I clasped my dirty hand about her mouth, pressing too hard as I wrapped my other arm firmly around her and pinned her arms to her body. I lifted her up, resisting her struggle and forcing her down, away, behind a tree where I forced her to crouch, covering her body with my own. Overpowering her.

Her hands were at my hand, trying to pry it away, trying to run, to escape. I pressed her firmly against me until I could feel her frantic heartbeat through my chest, matching my own.

She struggled still as the girl appeared, and still as the spear pierced the girl's chest. It was only when she fully recognized that the girl was dead did her breaths come shuttering out and her grip changed from one of type of fear to another. Slowly I loosened my grip and withdrew my hand, testing to see her reaction, if she would scream.

She was silent.

I wrapped both arms about her body and tugged her backward, and she let me, feet stumbling against the earth and I forced her away, careful not to draw attention from the others. I forced her movements, wincing at each crack of a branch, each heavy foot fall, and each groan that escaped her lips. When we had traveled far enough from the hunting ground I shoved her away, glairing down at her.

"Don't worry." She muttered, brushing back hair that had fallen across her sweaty face. "I'm not stupid; you could kill me if you wanted to."

I could.

I tugged down my face mask and started forward, she followed. She was not stupid, and I could kill her. For the moment we both let it be this way, me leading her through the forest and her following. And for a moment I could tell my heart to shut up and it would all be fine and all the risks I had just taken would end with us both as enemies.

Except I had saved her.

And she knew.

Her breaths grew heavier, pace slower, and I tried to accommodate but in the end I heard her halt. I hesitated a moment before I paused myself, turning about to face her. She had a hand splayed against a trunk, leaning her full weight as she swung fatigued against it.

"My leg." She said in simple English. Then let out a groan as she touched it. I glanced down to where she pushed her palm, and then let my eyes flicker back to her face. "I need to rest."

I had already resigned myself to this idiotic course of action.

So I stepped forward swiftly and she tried to straighten, tried to back away, but I scooped her into my arms much like I had done when she had been unconscious. Back resting against one arm, knees over the other. I did not wait for a reaction, did not look for one, just kept walking forward. She was stiff in my arms, tense as she blew aside a strand of hair and clasped her hands in her lap.

She looked at me, then away, then back, confused. I could feel her gaze on my face, but I refused to return it. I kept my eyes focused ahead on the trail, planned what I would need to do next. This hold I had on her now was nothing but necessity as was everything else in my dreadful life. Nothing but necessity and I could not allow her or myself to imagine it as anything but that.

"Thank you." She broke my concentration. "You saved my life."

What appeared to be an unfortunate decision on my part.

"That girl back there," She continued, and I could hear the hardened edge coming into her voice. "I knew her. So if she's here than so is my brother so please you have to help them too, they'll kill them."

I trained my face to a mask of unconcern. I was grateful she had said more than just 'thank you'.

She threw her head back and groaned in frustration.

"You don't understand me do you? Great." And her gaze was no longer upon me.

Then I did look at her, laughing to myself at how at least one of my 'don't let Octavia die' plans seemed to be working. She expected nothing from me. I noted the set brow, the tight lips then let my eyes fall down the slope of her neck to the swell of her breasts.

I looked away.

We had arrived and I set her down and continued to push aside the cover hiding the tunnel beneath. I glanced up to her then as she peered down, her lips forming a set line. I stood and grabbed her beneath the shoulders; she shuffled uncertainly until I lifted her and lowered her down into the darkness below. Her feet touched the earth and she hobbled forward, giving me room to jump down beside her. I closed the roof door then scooped her once more up into my arms.

I walked her through the stone halls back to the room I had first brought her to. As I set her down she began to ask,

"Why are you taking care of me?"

Her voice was fearful. As it should be. I left her side as she continued on, tugging the mask back over my mouth.

"You found me at the bottom of that ravine." I could not let her continue with such deductions, into the dangerous conclusions she ventured too close to. I grabbed up the metal and stepped back over to where she was inspecting my stitch work. "You fixed my knee."

I grabbed her wrist and snapped on the cold metal cuff.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asked, and I could hear the disbelief, and the small trust that had built between us shattered into unfixable pieces. "Please don't do this!" But I forced her wrists together and continued to wrap the chains securely about her flesh. I tugged tightly, knowing the metal was cutting into her flesh, knowing it would hurt.

"Ow! Stop it!"

I crushed the fragments of trust beneath my heel until they were dust that one would forget had ever even existed.

She was crying as I dragged her to the wall, securing the chain to the loop in the wall. I did not look at her as I left, just grabbed up my spear and parted with the sound of her cry echoing in my ears as I climbed out of my hovel.

I retraced the steps I had just taken. For a moment I considered the feel of her body in my arms, of how she had allowed me to hold her, lead her. Then I thought to how I had destroyed that, and how it was right.

My fog horn was in my hand. I did not do this for her, for them. I did not do this to rebel against Anya. I did this because it was all my own stupid decisions that had led the kids to hurt and pain and death and I would not let them die by my hands. I was not my clan.

I found them by the dead girl thanks to the idiot black haired ones screaming. As did the whole of my clan. They were surrounded, and they would die. Because of my most idiotic decision that I could do something to protect her.

I blew the horn, a long low blast that froze them, a second that sent them running.

Survival meant more to them than dead Sky People.

I was surprised however by the shaggy brown haired boys next actions. He pulled out a sort of material from his sack, spreading it out and ordering the rest to hide beneath its shelter. But it mattered little if they understood what the horn meant. No one would be able to pinpoint who had blown the horn, and now the children would have time to run. If they would run. But I did what I needed, if they died now it was not on my hands.

I trekked back through the woods to complete the next part of my task.

Octavia.

I tried to form some plan, but nothing seemed to work, nothing came out right. Everything had become so twisted and convoluted and I was angry with myself. I landed with a thud into my tunnels and went directly to 'her' room.

Her back was turned to me, and I still had no idea what I would do.

I placed my spear against the wall and stepped forward, crouching behind her. I let my eyes travel up her spine, and met her eyes as she turned her face to glare at me. And I needed to make my decision then.

I should not have hesitated.

She made her decision quicker and before I could note the movement she had swung her arms about and slammed the hard stone against my head. I leaned back, trying to go with the movement and not absorb the blow. I leaned back, glancing up to her burning gaze just as she swung the rock back the other way and once again caught me with its edge.

She was a fighter.

I struggled against the dark that pulled at my vision, but it was too strong and I succumbed for a moment. My head pulsed with pain, and I was certainly bleeding. When I finally managed to flutter my eyelids open there was noise. I lay still, deciphering it all until I could distinguish voices and words.

"We should go, now, before he wakes up."

That was Octavia, sounding both relieved and fearful.

"He's not going to wake up."

And that was her brother, murderous intent plain.

"Bellamy, stop. He didn't hurt me, let's just go."

It seemed my whole plan really had failed. But then, I never truly had any plan. Taking her with me had be a spur of the moment decision that in retrospect could bring nothing but what I was faced with now. I sensed a presence at my back, kneeling beside me as fingers picked up the horn strapped to my side.

"He started this." Bellamy countered, ignoring his sister's wish. "Finn, move." That to the boy at my side. I had to act now while I still had cover from Bellamy. I slipped out a knife from its sheath belt strapped to my chest and I rounded on the kid, digging it deep into his side. It was the one who knew what the horn mean, one I had saved just mere moment earlier. In the same motion as the stab I swung out my leg, sweeping Bellamy off his feet, his body thudding to the ground.

He scrambled back up quickly and tried to thrust the weapon against me, but I caught the wooden thing and pushed back. It was simple, too simple. He was their leader and he fought like a child. I easily took the spear from his grip and swung its tip toward him, toward his throat.

He managed to grab the end and desperately pushed back against my thrust.

"Stop! That's my brother!" Octavia screamed.

I had already made enough mistakes. This was all indirectly because of her, because I was infatuated and I had dared to even entertain the possibility that I could get closer to her, that I could do something for her, that I could save her.

There was a crack to the back of my head and with a grunt I fell limp, and this time had no choice but to fall into unconsciousness. It was all blurry and fuzzy noise and I could vaguely hear her cry.

The portrait had come out nice, capturing the sincerity of her smile, the spark in her eyes, and the beauty of her spirit. It was all soft edges and hard work and careful attention to detail. I was proud of the finished work.

I should have never drawn that portrait.

* * *

><p><em>I noticed something today that I found vaguely interesting... Lincoln is first seen by Octavia with his mask down, and it's down again when he's walking with hercarrying her, but it's up when he finds her after she's escaped and when he's chaining her..._

_Could this just be a way for the creators to cast uncertainty about his intentions, or is it Lincoln's way of protecting himself from Octavia and pretending to be the big, bad grounder since he wears it when doing things that aren't exactly kind... like chaining her up..._

_Well anyway! Hope this part was enjoyable and up to par with the rest, and YAY FOR SEASON 3!_


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